


love language

by ageofheroes



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, Fire Lord Zuko, Fire Nation Royal Family, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Gaang (Avatar), How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Iroh (Avatar) loves Tea, Mentioned Ozai (Avatar), Mostly Gen, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, but there is maiko, i also wrote this while listening to tchaikovsky, tea as therapy, will update tags as I go, zuko is my comfort character i will confess, zuko's daddy issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28969491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ageofheroes/pseuds/ageofheroes
Summary: "there is nothing more beautifully intimate than the giving of something to the other"or,5 times someone else made something for Zuko +1 time he made something for someone else
Relationships: Aang & Zuko (Avatar), Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Izumi & Zuko (Avatar), Mai & Zuko (Avatar), Mai/Zuko (Avatar), Ursa & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 65





	1. the broken shards of my past and future

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys!!  
> this is my first foray into writing fanfic, so i am super nervous about this but the idea haunted me for the last week so i finally sat down and wrote the first installment to it!! 
> 
> tw for the first chapter: implied/reference child abuse (it's ozai so ofc) but if that is something that triggers you please take care of yourself! 
> 
> please read it and tell me what you think!

The five-pronged flame of the Fire Lord’s crown reflects back at him in the mirror, illuminated by nothing more than the flickering torches in the wall and the intensity of his own golden stare. Jet black hair pulled into a topknot that was now well on its way to collapsing, from all of the times that he had tore his hands through his hair today. Zuko closes his eyes, hoping that when he opened them, he would find himself in that teashop in Ba Sing Se, wearing Earth Kingdom green and an apron that he pretended to hate. He opens his eyes.

He is not.

It is late, and he should really sit down at his desk and start looking over the reports that had made their way there during the course of the day. He went to meeting after meeting during the day, and stumbled back exhausted afterwards just to find a desk piled high with work. It was draining, and if he kept it off much longer, he might never be able to go sleep.

But he finds that he cannot move.

He cannot tear his eyes away from the mirror in front of him, much as he wanted to, much as he despised his own reflection. Someone had decided that the Fire Lord needed a colossal mirror, and he was paying the price for it now.

He looks up, and he sees golden eyes,

_(eyes that had glinted coldly as he stood above him and decreed his banishment, the only thing that Zuko could see through the raging pain and the burning haze of his own failure)_

jet black hair,

_(that had hung around him in a mockery of a curtain as the last of his innocence had been forcibly burned away)_

high cheekbones,

  
_(a sign of aristocracy, he had been taught, a sign of the divine right to rule that only the chosen of the spirits were blessed with)_

and that damning brand, the scar that had represented his own weakness and shortcomings and everything that was wrong with him for so long, he hardly knew where to start to undo his own dangerous mindset, and he could barely separate his own thoughts from what had been ingrained into him his entire life before and after his banishment.

He is still staring at all that he hated for an indeterminable amount of time before he is jolted out of his reverie by careful footsteps that he knows well, footsteps that had tiptoed around him for three years as he wallowed in his own self-loathing and anger.

“Uncle?”

“Zuko, it is late. Should you not be preparing to retire for the night? A man does need his rest, and you more than others, my nephew.”

Zuko blinks slowly, meeting his Uncle’s eyes in the mirror. He is dressed in a simple red robe, his gray topknot bound with nothing more than a gold ribbon. A far cry from the armor and crown he had worn day in and day out as Crown Prince. His dark gold eyes are soft with concern, concern that Zuko cannot even fathom the reason for existing. He’s fine. All he needs is to get himself away from this infernal mirror.

Zuko says nothing for a long while, staring at his Uncle in the mirror. Uncle seems content to stand there for as long as it took Zuko to crack, and he watches Zuko back.

Finally, Zuko sighs. He can’t even win a battle of the wills with an old man.

“I can’t move myself away from the mirror.”

Uncle’s eyebrows come together, like he didn’t expect Zuko’s answer in the slightest. Zuko then realizes faintly that it seems like he’s a narcissist, unable to look at anything but his own visage. He hurries to explain himself further.

“No. I mean I can’t move. I- I try to move but then I see something else, and I can’t- I can’t look away and then look back and realize that I look _exactly_ like-”

He stops cold.

Uncle’s face relaxes, as if he understands. He steps forward.

“Zuko, why don’t we move this conversation to the tearoom? I can assure you that there are no mirrors in there, only jasmine tea leaves and the comfort of introspection,” he says, and _what did that even mean_ , but Uncle is stepping forward to place his hand on Zuko’s shoulder, a warm, comforting weight that feels out of place on the heavy robes that Zuko wears, with its pointed shoulders and gold trimmings.

But the human contact helps. It’s something that Fa- no, _Ozai_ would have never allowed, so Zuko sinks into Uncle’s touch, and allows himself to be led out of the room.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Fire Lord’s tea chamber is a small, cozy room whose only furniture is the low table at its center, and the soft cushions surrounding it. Zuko sits down on one end, and watches Uncle lower himself to the ground with a soft groan, on the other end. Someone had placed a still-steaming teapot at the center of the table, and Uncle pours the tea into the ceramic cups, lacquered at the edges with gold. The steam wafts up, and all of a sudden Zuko is a thousand miles away in a Middle Ring apartment, accepting a cup of tea from Uncle. There had been a couple hours, when Zuko had no longer cared that his hair was dishonorably short, too short to be scraped into a topknot. He had no longer cared that he wore green and brown instead of red and gold. He had been content to be Lee the refugee, and he had been content to live the rest of his life working at that tea shop with Uncle by his side.

Now, he looks up, and Uncle’s expression is exactly the same as it had been that day.

“My dear nephew. I am so proud of you. More proud than you will ever know.”

“Why are you saying this, Uncle?” he rasps, his throat suddenly closing.

“I know how much courage it took to come back to the palace that has haunted both your dreams and nightmares for the past three years, and I know how difficult it has been for the last three weeks, since your coronation. I know how lonely you have felt, how you have felt that because your friends have left the palace, that you are alone in this world.” Zuko looks up, and Uncle’s eyes are sad.

“Uncle, I-” His throat finishes closing completely, and he drinks the tea to give himself something to do while he desperately fights off tears. Because how did Uncle know exactly how he had been feeling? He hadn’t said a word of his increasing desperation for company to anyone, because the war hadn’t even been over for three weeks, and there was so much to do, and everyone had their own thing to do, but he was just so _tired_ of being alone.

Soon, he’s staring at the dregs at the bottom of the cup, and he doesn’t have an excuse for not talking anymore. He sets the cup down, and looks up at Uncle. Uncle’s gaze is steady, and he sees no judgement in his eyes, no scorn, nothing other than patience and love.

“Thank you for the tea, Uncle.”

“Of course, nephew.”

There is a comfortable silence, while Zuko struggles to think of how he is going to say what he wants to say next. He has never been the best at articulating what he feels, but he thinks that Uncle will understand anyways.

“Today, I was about to go to my office, but I saw myself in the mirror. And it was only a split second thing, but suddenly I couldn’t move. And- and all I could see was _him_. I saw his eyes, and his hair, and his face, and it was horrible. And that’s why I was standing there when you walked in,” he says, all in a rush.

Something lifts inside him, and he realizes that there is more to say.

“I don’t want to end up like him, Uncle. I already look like him, and the only thing that is stopping me from looking like his exact lookalike is the scar that he gave me. And that is _terrifying_.”

“The fact that the most obvious evidence of his abuse of you is the only thing that you think is stopping you from looking exactly like him?” Zuko looks up at his uncle. Usually, Uncle never cuts in when Zuko is talking, preferring to let him ramble and rant and then drop some obscure proverb that he never understands. Never before has he cut right to the heart of Zuko’s insecurity, leaving him feeling flayed out and open in front of the world.

He thinks that it is exactly what he needs.

“Yes,” he says, slumping back against the cushions. “I’m already Fire Lord, how do I make sure that I don’t become him? That, all of a sudden, I’m not declaring myself the new Phoenix King or whatever he did?”

His head is spinning with the weight of confessing his innermost fear to Uncle, the fear that he carries with him everyday while dealing with generals, and training, and signing documents. Every time he does something, he makes sure that it is not something that he could reasonably see his father doing, and only then is he able to do it with anything more than abject terror. His entire life and career as Fire Lord is shadowed by the reign of the previous one, and it is something that both exhausts and sustains Zuko at the same time.

“I think you already know the answer to that question, Fire Lord Zuko.” At that, Zuko looks up sharply at his uncle, but Uncle only refills their teacups, saying nothing more.

And maybe he does.


	2. the lonely island of my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "there is nothing more beautifully intimate than the giving of something to the other"
> 
> or,
> 
> 5 times someone else made something for Zuko +  
> 1 time he made something for someone else
> 
> //i suck at summaries but basically this deals in the fact the zuko's love language is canonically giving things to people, so here is a little exploration of that!! :)
> 
> chapter 2: it's my best girl mai! enjoy loves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this got way longer than i was expecting lol but here you go!!!

“Hey, you.” 

He looks up from his slumped posture on the table of the bakery. Mai stands there, leaning against the wall, smirking faintly at him. She’s wearing the dark red apron of the bakery, and holds up a tray of- 

“Fruit tarts?” 

“Yep.” She makes her way over to his table, and sits down in front of him, setting the pastries down. “I’ve always liked them, and now I finally know how to make them. Take one. I’m perfecting my recipe.” 

As he picks up a tart and bites into its perfectly balanced sweetness, he can’t help but smile. Of course she would apply herself to baking with the same single-minded focus that she uses for everything else in her life, from watching her brother to throwing her _shuriken_. He still remembers the time he had first seen her in the training yard when they were kids, throwing the blades with an expression of steely determination, as Master Piandao gently corrected her form or her stance. He had been pleasantly surprised to see her, and had grinned widely at her, forgetting his own shyness. She had given him a pleased smile, and gone back to throwing the next knife in her set. 

He had carried the warm feeling with him for the rest of the day. 

Now, she wears a faint smile as she watches him expectantly for his reaction. 

“It’s really good, you know. Not too sweet, like the chefs at the palace make it,” he says, holding the tart up to her like a toast. Her expression turns to one of savage satisfaction. 

“Good. That’s what I was going for. It’s like the chefs try to make up for their lack of baking talent by excessive sugar. At this rate, all your teeth will rot and fall out and they will call you Fire Lord Zuko the Toothless.” He laughs at this, and it feels good to laugh after the craze of the last couple of weeks. 

With a jolt, he realizes that he _misses_ Mai. In the initial crazy days after the war had ended and he had been crowned, she had stuck around to make sure he didn’t drop down dead from the lightning still wreaking havoc through his system. Together, with Katara, she had bullied him into going to sleep and eating at semi-regular intervals, and before he knew it, he was beginning to rely on her more than he would admit. 

But that wasn’t fair to her. She didn’t deserve to spend her newfound freedom taking care of him, and so when Ty Lee had decided to go to Kyoshi Island with Suki and the rest of the Warriors, Mai had told him, one moonless night, that she wanted to go with them. 

She had told him that she needed some time to herself, exploring the world and doing whatever the hell she wanted, something that she had never been able to do as her father’s daughter, and then as Azula’s lackey. And he had agreed, wholeheartedly, that she needed to leave the Fire Nation and find herself in the endless world around them, and that they needed a break, too, because they were just two kids who had had to fill shoes that were much too big for them, but as he watched the Earth Kingdom ship sail away, he wondered why that meant that she had to leave, and he was all alone. 

But he had thrown himself into his job, and continued the grueling work of pulling his country back from violent, ravaging war, and somehow it was easier not to miss someone when you fell into bed exhausted late at night and woke up early the next morning to train. 

But now, watching her delicately pick a fruit tart apart, he realizes that he hadn’t filled the hole in his life where she used to be, just pushed it to the side. And now she was _thriving_ , sparring with and teaching and learning from the other Kyoshi Warriors, and nurturing a passion for baking on the side at one of the many bakeries that lined the streets of the villages of the island, and being purely, unabashedly _happy_ in the life that she had made for herself away from the Fire Nation. 

Away from him. 

“So. How was your meeting with the village elders? Did they agree to your request for a bodyguard team?” she asks, jolting him out of his musings. He raised his eyebrows. 

“More like Suki’s request. When she stayed over last month and helped fight off an assassination attempt, she said, and I quote, ‘your guards suck ass.’ Then she put in a request, and I received a formal invitation to come here.” He doesn’t add that he had been hoping for a reason to see her, but something about the way her tawny eyes stare at him makes him think that she knows. He barrels on, his cheeks heating up. 

“And anyways, Oyaji was proud to admit that his island’s warriors are the best in the world, and so I think they’ll be arriving in a couple of weeks,” he finishes. He looks up at her. She looks thoughtful. 

“You know, Suki did mention that she wanted to branch out. I think after traveling so much during the war, she realized that it’s hard to stay in one place without some overarching purpose, like we had before,” she begins slowly, her eyes still on the last piece of the pastry on the plate. He hardly dares to breathe, because he’s listening so intently to her. 

“And I rather think that I agree with her.” She looks up, and her eyes are soft. “I think it’s time for me to come home, Zuko. I’ve missed the Fire Nation, and, well-” She breaks off, and her face is dusted lightly pink. “I’ve missed you, too.” 

He must be gaping like one of the koi fish in the palace gardens, because she laughs. 

“Don’t look so shocked. I was always going to come back, you know. And it’s been more than a year already, so I’m sure the generals have forgotten how terrified they are of me.” 

He’s still speechless, because not even in his wildest dreams had he thought that she would come _back_ . He had accepted the fact that she needed to do what would make her happy, but never had he thought that what would make her happy was _him._

Hesitantly, he reaches his hand across the table. She looks down at his hand, and reaches her hand out, too. He feels her cool fingers entwine with his, and he looks up at her. She is watching him, her eyes warm, and she smiles. 

He puts the last piece of the tart in his mouth, squeezes Mai’s hand, and smiles at her. It is such a beautiful day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to whoever has stuck with me so far!! i literally live off of comments and kudos and subs so cmon now, dont be shy :))

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading the first installment of this fic! i'm planning for six chapters rn bc 5 + 1 but we will see! 
> 
> comments/kudos/subscribes are greatly appreciated !!!!


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